


Three-Point Landing

by Xparrot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Getting Together, Multi, OT3, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after this long, after this much, he's still that selfish bastard Oliver Queen, who has more than everyone around him and still it's not enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three-Point Landing

It only happened once, before the island. Oliver doesn't know how much Laurel or Tommy even remembered; they were all pretty wasted at the time. He doesn't remember himself if it was his idea, or maybe Tommy had just been joking. Either way the punchline was all of them entangled, kissing, laughing and horny and high as kites.

The sex was pretty fantastic, once they'd worked out who went where and did what. It wasn't Oliver's first threesome or first guy, though it was his first for both together. But he knew Tommy—like that, though neither of them ever mentioned it—and of course he knew Laurel, and he always knew how to have a good time. How to make a good time.

They never talked about it afterwards, not really. Tommy made some raunchy wisecracks and Laurel rolled her eyes and Oliver didn't bring it up again. But it had been fun.

Though those first nights on the island, starved and shivering, it isn't the sex he longs for. It's the comfort of waking in the middle of Tommy's king-sized bed, with Tommy asleep on one side and Laurel on the other, close enough to touch; though he hadn't, not wanting to wake them. Not wanting to end it, when it felt so right, so perfect, to have both of them there at once.

 

* * *

 

It never actually happens on the island. Oliver thinks about it, though, dreams about it, as vividly as ever he dreams about fast food or clean sheets or hot showers.

Shado knows, when she embraces him, when she takes his head in her hands and wraps her legs around his waist, that it's incomplete, unfulfilled. "Thinking of her?" she whispers into Oliver's ear, not jealous but understanding. She's got her own ghosts that she wants fucked out of her.

She bites Oliver's lip when he shakes his head _No_ ; but it's true. He used to lie to every woman he knew but he doesn't want to now, not with Shado. So he doesn't tell her that he's thinking only of her. 

He doesn't tell her how he's thinking of Shado on his lap and Slade behind him. How when he buries his face between Shado's small firm breasts he imagines the feel of Slade's calloused hands on his hips, imagines the wet sounds of Shado kissing Slade over his head.

Oliver spars with Slade, wrestled to the ground beneath the other man and he imagines Shado pressed between them, has to roll over into the dirt to hide his erection.

He knows it wouldn't happen. Not worth risking, not when he can't guess how the hell Slade would react. Oliver's known plenty of macho assholes, but no one masculine the way Slade is masculine. So strong and so sure of himself. Maybe he wouldn't be offended, maybe he'd just bark a laugh. Or maybe he'd grab Oliver, haul him close and give him half of what he wanted.

Either way, he wouldn't want what Oliver does. And Shado maybe doesn't mind sharing him with memories, but Slade would be something else altogether.

 

* * *

 

After Ivo, after the Mirakuru, Oliver doesn't let himself think about it anymore; but he can't help his dreams. Sometimes it's Shado still. Sometimes it's Sara, forced under him and Slade, screaming until she's hoarse and Oliver wakes up in a haze of sweat and lust and guilt. He wakes up hard and sobs as he comes, and he doesn't know if it's because as much as he misses Shado, his dreams so easily replace her with Sara, as if one woman is as good as another to his libido; or because he can bring himself off in spite of fear and pain. Because of fear and pain.

Or maybe it's because he wants it so badly, in spite of everything. That even after this long, after this much, he's still that fucking selfish bastard Oliver Queen, who has more than everyone around him and still it's not enough.

 

* * *

 

Diggle starts it. Or, okay, not exactly, but it's his fault, ultimately. He's the one who, when Oliver gets back to the hideout, takes one look and strips off his jacket and shirt and challenges him to a match. "But it's late," Oliver says. Felicity's already gone home for the night. "I've got a meeting tomorrow morning—"

Dig snorts. "Yeah, like you're going to get any sleep, worked up like that. Besides, maybe you're tired enough to give me the advantage for once."

Oliver's not that tired, though, slower but not that slow. It takes him five minutes to pin Dig's shoulders to the floor, straddling his powerful waist, and Dig is caught between consternation and his know-it-all smirk, because, yes, Oliver needed this.

And Oliver's not tired enough to lose, but he is tired enough not to stop himself from bending down and sucking that smirk off Dig's lips with his own. Which is all kinds of stupid, he realizes a half second later. He pulls apart, mind spinning furiously to fix this—maybe he can claim he was dosed with something, a new strain of Vertigo—

But Diggle isn't slow, either, and by then he's got his arms around Oliver. He's strong, but Oliver knows he's not relying on his strength to overpower. Instead he's counting on Oliver's unwillingness to hurt him to break free.

Or maybe he's just counting on Oliver not wanting to be freed. "It's okay," Dig murmurs into Oliver's ear, releasing half his hold to rake sturdy fingers through his short hair. "If you want this, Oliver, it's okay by me."

Oliver stays.

 

* * *

 

He wishes afterwards that he hadn't. Diggle acts like nothing happened, like nothing's changed, smiles wryly and calls Oliver on his bullshit, same as always.

But things have been a little awkward with Felicity for a while now, and this is going to make it worse on all kinds of levels—maybe too much, and Oliver can't take that. Can't even take thinking about it. Losing Felicity is...not an option. And not only because he's terrified of what he could become without her.

He tries to avoid the office and the hideout both, but he's got a job now—two jobs, crucial duties on two fronts, and Felicity is battlefield commander for both. However badly Oliver might have damaged their troop morale.

Also Felicity is not one to beat around the bush, so two days is as long as it takes her to turn up at his house with her arms crossed, tapping a brightly colored heel on the hardwood floor. "So," she says, "are you going to keep being a jerk, or are you going to talk to me about this as a mature human being, like Diggle did?"

"Diggle told you—" Oliver catches himself. "Talk to you about what?"

Felicity rolls her eyes. "I'm a big girl, Oliver. And I have heard of bisexuality, thank you. Diggle says it was mostly about stress relief, which, I mean, you definitely have more than enough stress in your life, so anything that can relieve it is a good thing. I'd like to say that I can be pretty relieving as well, but I don't think anyone who knows me would actually confirm that. And Diggle is _very_ good at that kind of relieving, and, um, I should have stopped talking at least two sentences ago." She shuts her mouth.

Oliver stares at her. He never regrets his mental acumen not being up to pace with his physical ability as much as when talking to Felicity, even under the best circumstances. And this is the cognitive equivalent of a long jump over fire. "...You and Diggle...?"

Felicity's cheeks are starting to match her lipstick. "Once. Or okay, a few times. When you were back on the island and we were looking for you. We stopped when we got you back, so it wouldn't be, you know. Weird. But, yeah, I don't have any stones to throw at the glass house of workplace romance. And I know that it doesn't have to change anything. Though, Oliver..." Felicity looks down, looks back up at him, and her eyes are serious. "Will you please not do it again? Not because I'm jealous, but John...this wasn't what he..." She trails off.

Oliver swallows loud around the lump in his throat. "I—I won't," he says. "I didn't mean to push him, I can apologize, I—"

"Oh," Felicity looks startled, "it wasn't that he didn't want it! Kind of the opposite, really—it's just...well, I shouldn't say—"

"Felicity...?"

"It wasn't just stress relief for Diggle, okay?" she blurts out. "Any more than it would be for me. I know that you weren't trying to hurt him, but you should give him the same respect you give me—he deserves that much, and a hell of a lot more, and I—"

"Felicity," Oliver says, talking fast, overtaking her as he gets a running start, "it wasn't just stress relief for me, either."

"—Oh." Felicity rocks back on her heels like she rammed into an invisible wall. "Oh. That's—that's good, then. For you—for both of you—"

Her face is blank, so Oliver can't tell if he's just reading what he wants into her eyes, or if it's really there. "Felicity, how do you feel about Diggle? Are you worried about him as a friend, or—"

"Of—of course I'm worried about him as a friend," Felicity stammers, "he's my friend, I—of course I—this isn't about me anyway—"

"Yes, it is," Oliver says, feeling like he's thrown himself over a pit of fire and can't tell yet if he's got the momentum to reach the other side. "Because it wouldn't be about stress relief with you, either—not for me; and I don't think it was for Diggle, either."

Felicity doesn't try to deny any of it, just stares at him, despairing. "Then what are we supposed to _do_ about it?"

Oliver leans down and kisses her, and when Felicity's arms wind around his neck he knows he's landed on solid ground.

 

* * *

 

Oliver books the hotel room for a week, but with their schedule of business and crime-fighting it takes a couple of extremely frustrating days before they can make time for a private evening together.

It's worth the wait. Really it's worth it just for Diggle's face—he already put together most of it from Felicity's embarrassedly uncontainable joy; but he missed the most important part. So they both get to tell him that it's him, Felicity in one ear and Oliver in the other.

It doesn't take much to convince him, and after that, it's perfect. A little awkward at first, but then Felicity giggles and Diggle snorts and Oliver doesn't quite remember how to laugh anymore but his smile is enough. Plus, certain positioning is easier when everyone's sober, and Oliver is in way better shape, has stamina he once couldn't dream of.

And most importantly it's Diggle and Felicity, who both know him far too well. Far more than is safe; but this close he can protect them, can save them from whatever comes. The island was almost worth it, that it made him strong enough for this.

Though when Diggle wraps his big arms around Oliver from behind, holding him in place as Felicity climbs on top of him, hands on Diggle's biceps to steady herself, Oliver looks up at her grin, feels Diggle's satisfied exhalation under him, and wonders who is really saving who.

 

* * *

 

Later—much later—Oliver is awakened by the creak of a door opening. He freezes, bracing himself as he listens to the dark unfamiliar hotel room around them.

Felicity is fast asleep, her head nestled on his chest. As he tenses, she mumbles an unintelligible protest, curling closer.

"S'okay," Diggle murmurs drowsily on Oliver's other side, "just another room down the hall." He throws an arm over Oliver's stomach to hold him down, his hand trailing down Felicity's spine, and she quiets under the caress.

Oliver settles back into the mattress. He puts his arm around Felicity, his other around Diggle, and lets himself fall back asleep, knowing they'll be there when he wakes up.


End file.
